CHAPTER XXV.

AGNES GOES HOME.

"Pure as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth,

With not a taint of mortal life, except thy mortal birth; God bad thee early taste the spring for which so many

thirst,

And bliss, eternal bliss, is thine, my fairest and my first!"

A. WATTS.

"Lorn mother at the dark grave-door

She kneeleth, pleading o'er and o'er,
But it is shut for evermore.

She toileth on, the mournfullest thing,

At the vain task of emptying

The cistern whence the salt tears spring."

MASSY.

FRANCES tried in vain to rest that night: if she closed her eyes, it was but to see hideous forms before her, and she was constrained to open them, to dissipate the illusion. At last, wearied with these repeated trials, she gave up all idea of sleep. She rose, and bathed her throbbing temples. The baby was very restless in its cot, and she sat up and rocked it for a time; then, kneeling by its side, she took one of her husband's prayer-books, and recited the Seven Penitential Psalms. In such occupations as these she passed the whole night. When Columba came in, in the morning, Frances asked her to take the baby to its nurse:

"She has been very restless," she said, "and I am afraid she is not well."

Columba did as she was desired, and then returned to wait upon her mistress.

Frances, while dressing, was so deeply absorbed in her own thoughts, that it was not until Columba had upset a bottle of eau de-Cologne, and proceeded to soak it up with the baby's blue sash, that she noticed anything at all peculiar in her maid's manner.

"Why, Columba, what are you thinking of? That is baby's sash," said she, rescuing it from destruction; "you seem to be very absent this morning."

"I have something to say to you, milady, and was thinking how to begin."

Frances, seeing from this prelude that she had some difficulty in approaching her subject, gave an encouraging smile.

Well, you shall

"Something to say, have you? tell me while you dress my hair." So saying she seated herself before the glass, and, raising her eyes, almost started at the pale and haggard face that she saw reflected there.

"Now, Columba, unburden your mind; it is better to speak at once," said she, sighing at the thought of her own sad experience.

"Well, milady, it is disagreeable for me to tell you, but I understand more English than the other servants think. I do not speak much to them, but I hear them sometimes say things which they would not wish me to know."

"Well, and what are these dreadful things?"

"But, milady, they are things which I amn sure you will not like to hear, because I know that Miss Falkland is your great friend."

"Indeed!" said Frances, her interest now fully aroused. "What of Miss Falkland? Tell me what they say."

Columba hesitated.

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Well, milady, I do not exactly know what they mean; they say she is only a governess, and was obliged to leave her last place because they found out something about her. But don't look so frightened, milady, I am sure it is not true, and I told them so. I think that Jane Harding must have talked to them about her, for they have never seemed to like her so well since she began to come here I mean Jane Harding, milady.”

"And who is Jane Harding? And pray what has she to do with my servants?'

"She is Mrs. Wilson's servant, milady."

Frances said nothing, and hastily completed her toilet; but, as she was leaving the room, she turned back, and said:

"You did quite right to speak to me, Columba, and I thank you for doing so. Miss Falkland was a governess before she came here; I knew that when I asked her to live with me; but this ought not in the least to diminish her in any one's good opinion. With regard to the latter part of the story, it is perfectly false; I had heard something of it before."

Poor Frances, she had seen at a glance that

Mrs. Wilson had spoken of Agnes in such a manner as to injure her in the estimation of those who heard her. She felt that the evil was spreading quite beyond her reach. How could it be remedied? "If my desire and my efforts to propitiate Mrs. Wilson are in vain, what is the use of my keeping silence longer? Perhaps now they know it at Ferncliffe,--perhaps now they think of me with contempt!"

Then, wringing her hands, she continued:

"I would tell Alexander if he were only here! I feel that now I should have courage; but he is gone, and I cannot write it. Why did I let him go? and when will he be back?"

It now seemed to Frances impossible to write to Wilfred until her husband was first made acquainted with all the circumstances of the case. She passed a wretched morning, and was much annoyed when, after luncheon, some visitors were announced.

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Agnes," she said, "will you come down with me, and help me to entertain these people?"

But Agnes found these people very difficult to entertain. Seeing that Frances was unequal to the task, she endeavored to sustain the conversation; but they only answered her in monosyllables, and then, turning to Mrs. Clyde, again addressed their conversation to her. With Agnes they were cold and distant, and she felt repulsed by their chilling manner, whenever she attempted to engage their attention.

Frances saw it all, and easily accounted for it:

for her guests she knew were familiar with Mrs. Wilson. Frances had never cared much for them, but now she positively hated them, and wished them gone. Their visit appeared interminable, and they seemed like fixtures. When at last she had the satisfaction of seeing the carriage roll away, she was surprised, on looking at her watch, to find that they had stayed only one quarter of

an hour.

"O," thought she as she went upstairs, "O, that Alexander were here, and this miserable suspense at an end!"

She stopped on the landing, and looking out over the garden, caught sight of some one coming towards the house. To her dismay she found that it was Mrs. Wilson.

case.

She flew down stairs. "George, I am not at home,” she said, and hastily reascended the stairBut she had scarcely reached the top when she changed her mind. Perhaps Mrs. Wilson had seen her at the window; and it might make matters worse to offend her. In an instant she was in the hall again, and had just time to speak to the bewildered footman before he opened the door, and then retreated into a small room opposite the drawing-room.

The sight of Mrs. Wilson was odious to her; she felt again imprisoned, and her visitor could plainly perceive that she was longing to get rid of her. Vexed at this, Mrs. Wilson openly expressed her opinion that Mr. Percival would have answered immediately, if he had been written to; and went